


Tales of Heartache and Happiness

by MeinNameIstJette



Category: FFXV - Fandom, Final Fantasy XV, Kingsglaive
Genre: AU, Angst, Complications, Drabbles, Father-Son Relationship, Feelings, Food for Thought, M/M, happiness, unexplored canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2019-10-01 00:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17234243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeinNameIstJette/pseuds/MeinNameIstJette
Summary: Sometimes I get feelings that just don't fit into the storylines that I have out already. So have random drabbles that sometimes connect and sometimes don't.Chapter 1: Never MoreChapter 2: DrawingChapter 3: Jean Friday





	1. Never More

What did Titus find frustrating? 

Cor ‘The Immortal’ Leonis. 

The man was infuriating in all the right ways. The fact that he wasn’t aware of the things that he made Titus feel when he came by the Glaives training facilities. The fact that he was very unaware of how his witty humour managed to bring down one more wall of defence. The fact that when Cor looked at him with those pale blue eyes when they fucked, Titus couldn’t look away. 

He had known the first time Cor had sucked his cock that allowing whatever it was they were doing, to keep going, was a terrible idea. 

Except, Titus had found that out the hard way (metaphorically and literally). That his typically steel resolve would waver, especially when those lips promised him things that he’d denied himself nearly his entire life. 

It became even worse the days they were apart. Whether it was Drautos who was sent out to another battle or Cor on one of his many solo missions. Once back they couldn’t help but crash into each other. 

Desperate. 

Aroused.

And clearly in need of release. 

Drautos hated himself each and every time. He hated that as hard as he pulled away, Cor found a way to borrow deeper into his heart -- a heart he had been certain had shrivelled up and died a long time ago. 

It made what was to come that much more difficult. 

There would be no way of salvaging the relationship he had with Cor. There would be no changing that fact that Drautos was Glauca and that Glauca wanted Regis dead and Insomnia destroyed. 

Nothing had ever been easy but for once Drautos could feel more than hate. He felt pain, excruciating pain, in his chest, and that pain managed to increase with each interaction and even more so when he had to pretend that everything was alright, that he wasn't a traitor, and that he was very much on the side of Lucis. 

The art of lulling everyone into a false sense of security was a talent that Drautos occasionally wished he didn't have. The fact that even the Marshal of the Crownsguard couldn't completely see through him. It made it difficult to look Cor in the eye and if they somehow both survived, Drautos would accept the scorn and hate that Cor would certainly carry against him. 

For, although his feelings were not a lie, a good many of his actions were. That was the curse of a man who couldn't put his past behind him.

However, Drautos also knew that Cor, above all, understood what it was to follow ones’ own moral code. To not let distractions get in the way of the bigger picture. 

This war had clearly shown Drautos that his worth was only valued in the amount of damage he could cause to his enemy. And it seemed, that around Cor, he was his own enemy.

What Cor and he had….would have been better had in another life. Under a different political climate and under better circumstances. 

They had both lost a lot already and it was evident that they would only continue to lose more.

That was the true dance of war and there was never an escape for a true soldier and pawn -- which was the very definition of who Cor and he had become.


	2. Drawing

Cor was sitting cross-legged on the eastern wall looking over Leide. His eyes were closed and he looked in a semi-state of meditation. The only thing that gave off a different impression was the sketchbook that was nestled on his lap, open, pencil held carefully in one hand, and the rubber sitting off to the side. 

There was a slight breeze but that was to be expected when so high up and surprisingly the entire portion of the wall Cor was sitting on was abandoned. Titus felt as if the moment any of the lower ranking Crownsguard caught sight of the Marshal, they made it a point to stay clear of the area. Not becasue Cor was a tyrant by any means but there was something about his disposition that had people respecting his space and privacy. 

Not so much the case for Titus. He had to beat each one of his glaives off of him with the sheath of his sword if he wanted even a moment of peace. He had almost resigned himself to accept his fate of Glaives sprawled over him after each and every mission. 

Titus doesn’t move from his spot near the stairs. 

The view was gorgeous but there was a better view barely a few steps away from him. 

“Are you going to stand there all day?” Cor exhales as he blinks one eye open and arches the same brow. 

Titus snorts. “And if I decided to do just that? What are you going to do about it?” 

Cor’s lip curves up and his only open eye slides shut. “Nothing. Probably.” 

Titus rolls his eyes and moves forward to settle beside him. His gaze shifts to Cor’s sketchbook surprised that the Marshal took up another art besides sword fighting.

There’s a silence that falls between them. A comfortable silence and Drautos forgets his former irritation. An irritation that derived from the fact that he hadn’t been able to find the Marshal anywhere in the Citadel our around the Citadel. 

It was clear it was one of those days. 

He spies on Cor through his periphery, the man had fallen back into the position he had been prior to noticing Drautos. His pencil was poised over his sketchbook and Titus assumed Cor was thinking about something to draw. 

“Why is-” 

“Shhh.” 

Titus looks almost peeved at being shushed but he swallows that down because Cor’s pencil finally connects with the paper and then it’s moving, quickly. His strokes sure and confident and the lines produced on the paper clearly of a practiced hand. 

Honestly, if Cor had just started drawing Titus knows he would have fallen quiet. Watching Cor Leonis do anything was surprisingly therapeutic. It shouldn’t be. In fact it should cause the opposite effect but once again Titus found himself captivated by this man. 

He hated the Marshal for this reason. Titus had never met anyone in his life who could hold his attention while quite literally drinking a cup of fucking tea. 

“I didn’t realise the Marshal also draws.” Titus breaks the silence. 

This seems to pull Cor from his trance and his pencil stops, eyes open, and he glances up at him. Titus swears he sees a slight flush but it’s gone before he can confirm. 

“I started when I was fifteen. A way to calm my inner turmoil….and a good way to give Clarus a break from my...exuberance.” Cor exhales softly. 

Titus turns to look out at Leide. He can see a couple of territorial sabertusks fighting each other. 

“You must have wanted something if you came up here to find me.” Cor deduces as he turns to take in the other man. 

It’s Titus’ turn to take his time as he hums slowly. “I did.” He affirms but doesn’t elaborate. 

Cor turns the pencil in his hand and pokes Titus’ side with the eraser side. 

Titus arches a brow and gives Cor a look of sardonic bewilderment -- also known as an expression which could only embody one word: really?! 

This seems to elicit a snort and then laugh from Cor. One that clearly embarrasses the Marshal especially with the way his cheeks heat up. He turns away, clearing his throat, as he tries to compose himself. 

“Quite frankly, that gesture alone has made me forget why I came up here. Shame.” Titus sighs purposely dramatically. 

Cor’s lips are curving up again. “Shame, indeed.” 

It’s easy to see Titus own lips curve up. “Since this is your fault and you wasted my time. I’ll just have to sit up here for a bit longer.” 

Cor’s expression softens, it goes unnoticed by Titus. 

“Going to write me up, Captain?” Cor smirks. 

Titus’ lips curve higher up. “ I should. Report you to Lord Amicitia so he goes greyer then he has already.” 

Cor clicks his tongue. “The grey is definitely Regis’ fault.” 

“So I have been told.” Titus murmurs. 

They fall back into silence. Titus looking out across Leide a second time and Cor’s pencil connecting with his paper. 

Eventually, Titus moves to stand and Cor can’t help but look up, almost disappointed. 

“Maybe when you’re not busy letting off some steam. You can come find me in my office.” 

Cor smiles again. “No promises.” He says. 

Titus rolls his eyes. Familiar banter. 

He moves back towards the stairs and stops to take in Cor one last time. “I’ll see you at eight with tea.” 

“Presuming a lot, Captain,” Cor calls back to him. 

“Presuming enough, Marshal. Tea or beer. I won’t settle for anything else.” With that Titus heads down. He knows he’ll get the chance to revisit Cor’s not so secret hobby. 

Unfortunately, right now he had to head back to the Citadel if the periodic calls from Ostium, Furia, and Lazarus were anything to go off of.


	3. Jean Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cor hates Jean Friday. 
> 
> Well, sometimes it's not so bad. 
> 
> Have a random drabble to keep my juices flowing. This is crack. I'm sorry but I'm not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a random drabble to keep my juices flowing. This is crack. I'm sorry but I'm not? 
> 
> As per custom, it is unedited. Might edit later. Who knows?

Jeans day. Citadel. 

Probably one of the worst days of the week in Cor's opinion. He liked his black slacks and the maneuverability it allowed him, much better than a set of ridiculous constricting jeans. 

His distaste becomes even clearer when said offending article crosses his line of vision. Cor can’t even hide the frown that manifests across his features. 

They were terrible. Look at them. So drab, not that Cor was much of a fashionista, but still! 

The pair of legs in the jeans passes by him and Cor pauses for a second. He notices something that he hadn’t quite allowed himself to notice before (most likely to do with the fact he was always so irritated by jean Friday). The passerby's ass looked mighty fine in those jeans. A terrible revelation after how much of a stink he’d put up about all of this to Regis.

"Ulric?" 

Nyx pauses mid-step before turning to both regard and then salute the Marshal. "Yes, sir?" 

"Are all the Glaives wearing jeans today?" 

Nyx's brows knit together in brief confusion as if he didn't understand how the answer wasn't obvious already. "Uh...yes. Even the Captain, sir." 

Cor lets those words sink in before he's nodding very slowly and Ulric can’t help but notice the indecipherable expression on the Marshal’s face. Cor can tell that Ulric’s eyeing him, trying to figure out what this entire exchange is about. 

"Let Captain Drautos know that I'll be coming to observe Glaive training this afternoon." 

Nyx’s lips curve up in amusement as he lets out an equally amused hum. "Sure thing, Marshal. I'll let him know. Is that all?" 

Cor can’t even look at him so he nods. “That’s all.”

And with that, Nyx is off, and Cor stands there groaning softly. 

He’s embarrassed to admit that he’s tilting his head as he stares….no studies Ulric’s ass, long enough that he’s filled with more embarrassment at the realization he’d still be staring if the Glaive hadn’t turned the corner. 

Fuck jean Friday.

Well…., Cor sighs, resigning himself to the fact that he would at least enjoy a small part of it, reluctantly enjoy a small part of it. 

Regis was never allowed to know. Ever.


End file.
